


An Elephant in a Rose Water Bath

by misura



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Fire & Blood - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Book: Fire and Blood, M/M, Unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 21:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Racallio enjoys a bath and dreams of elephants.





	An Elephant in a Rose Water Bath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fairleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/gifts).



" - so I told him to behead the cunts, and he asked me, 'Are you sure, my lord?' and I said, 'Of course I'm sure, Racallio Ryndoon never jokes about wanting to have people's heads chopped off'." Racallio paused, considering. "Although now that I think back on it, I'm not sure that he actually addressed me as 'my lord'."

The day was young, the sky was clear, the bath water was at a perfect temperature and smelled of roses, and Alyn Velaryon was still his guest. All these things considered, Racallio decided that he ought to be feeling quite happy and pleased with himself, as he did on all days.

Alyn Velaryon had proven to be a delightful guest, a strong wrestler and a wonderful drinking companion. Racallio might have granted him half his fleet and all his wives for the pleasure of another day of his company and felt none the poorer for the bargain. And yet.

And yet Racallio wanted more. True, he felt he had a certain responsibility to his men and wives, and Velaryon's fight against the Red Kraken seemed unlikely to provide the kind of plunder and profit to make such an endeavor worthwhile. It would be a long voyage, besides, and Racallio had become attached to the comforts of Bloodstone.

Still, for love, a man had to risk everything sometimes, or else what was the point of it all?

"Well, it matters not," Racallio decided. "We were in public, after all. He may call me what he likes in public as much so long as he calls me what _I_ like in private - is that not a fair bargain?"

Outside, a bird started singing, a tender, joyful sound. Racallio poured himself some wine and drank to the unseen bird, sharing its song with the world, courageous and not giving a damn who heard.

"Though what would that be?" Racallio brooded. The title of 'my lord', while indicating a certain respect also seemed to carry with it a distance that ill fitted a friendship such as he wished to exist between him and Velaryon.

An image fluttered into his mind, a glimpse only, of Velaryon proving why men called him 'Oakenfist', their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together in passion, Racallio spread open for his beloved guest's pleasure as Velaryon pressed inside, oak-hard and merciless and yet tender as his teeth found Racallio's earlobe and tucked at it before he whispered - before he said, in a voice roughened by love -

Racallio waited. He felt himself ready for that last moment, that last part of the fantasy that would complete the work his hands and brilliant mind had already begun.

It would not come, which meant _he_ would not come.

Racallio sighed, leaning back. The day was still young, the sky was still clear, and the bathwater still smelled sweetly, but it was cooling and he was a busy man.

"Anyway," he said. "So there we were, those three cunts looking on, and out came his sword - his _other_ sword, not that Racallio Ryndoon minds an audience most times, but one must draw the line somewhere, and these cunts were honorless Tyroshi spies, after all. And off came their heads, neat as you please. Ah. Perfection. Give me to a dozen such men and I might never leave my bed again - though if I did, I might well conquer the world, or some small part of it I'm comfortable with ruling, anyway. Which I already have, so it only seems fair I should get _one_ such man."

The bird stopped singing. Racallio hoped it had found a mate, rather than that it had gotten itself devoured by some predator. It would mean at least one person had found love today.

"I bid you good morning, my lord." For a man having spent the night with two of his wives, Velaryon looked remarkably well-rested. Racallio wondered if Velaryon had been unable to perform, consumed by the same longing that tormented himself.

It was a pleasing thought, even if it suggested Velaryon had not lost any sleep over the idea of having the great Racallio Ryndoon on his knees and his to do with as he pleased.

Still, some men were fierce in battle, yet shy in matters of the heart and the bed. Racallio knew himself to be such a man from time to time. What could be more natural than for Velaryon to be one as well?

"Racallio Ryndoon wants an elephant, you cocksucker," he said.

Velaryon neither blinked nor blushed. "I don't have one with me, to my regret."

Racallio drank some wine and glowered. It was quite a good glower, or so his wives had assured him. He had used it from time to time to scare off unwanted suitors when wearing his disguise as a lady of negotiable virtue.

"Besides, I'm not sure that you would be able to keep it here. They take a lot of work and feeding, elephants."

"And produce a lot of shit, I'm sure," Racallio said. "How'd you like my wives?" He'd be getting details from them later. Maybe he'd ask them to do a bit of play-acting. That might be fun, with them taking the part of Velaryon and he that of the great Racallio Ryndoon's favorite wife, reluctant to let any but her husband touch her, yet slowly won over by the great beauty and strength of a stranger.

He'd have to phrase his requests carefully, of course. His wives could be sensitive about such things, and he wouldn't want them to get the wrong impression. That only ended in tears and embarrassment for everyone involved who carried the proud name of Racallio Ryndoon.

"A pair of formidable ladies," Velaryon said, adding, after a pause, "We talked about you a great deal."

Racallio felt himself quiver. Velaryon did feel as he did, then. There was a connection between them, a bond as that existed between brothers. A passion running deeper than the deepest sea.

"Fine, asshole. Racallio Ryndoon can be generous. No elephant."

Velaryon smiled at him. Songs ought to be written about that smile, Racallio thought. "Tell me, my lord. Nine nights and days I have spent under your roof already, and a very pleasant nine days and nights they've been, but I have a duty."

"You have a king." Racallio scoffed. "You might find having a queen much more to your liking."

"Be that as it may," Velaryon said. "Ask of me what you want, my lord. The sooner I leave, the sooner I may return."

A promise, at last. A commitment, almost. It would be ungenerous not to respond in kind, Racallio decided, though there remained the part where, in order to return and claim his queen, Velaryon would need to depart first.

That Velaryon would emerge victorious from any engagement, Racallio did not doubt.

"Racallio Ryndoon has given much careful consideration to your request," Racallio said.

"I'm pleased to hear it," said Velaryon. "And has Racallio Ryndoon reached a decision on what he wants in exchange for safe passage?"

Racallio imagined confessing his true desires. He imagined Velaryon's pleased expression, and events progressing from there. He imagined Velaryon tearing off his clothes with those strong, strong hands of his, their mouths finding one another, their cocks hard and weeping to be touched.

He imagined Velaryon sliding into the water behind him as he bathed, falling asleep together after a night of wine and fire and fine food and passion, and Velaryon's surprise as Racallion confessed to him that the marinated fish he had enjoyed so much had been prepared by Racallio himself, an old family recipe, passed on from mother to son.

He imagined Velaryon confessing that he had never fucked a man before, requiring Racallio to teach him, to show him, to guide him inside. He imagined Velaryon confessing that he had fucked dozens of men, but that none of them had felt as good as Racallio.

"Racallio Ryndoon has decided to tell you his demands, cocksucker," Racallio said. "If."

"If?"

"If you can beat me at mudwrestling, cocksucker. Otherwise, you're shit out of luck."

"Well. I may be hopeful, then." Velaryon grinned. His grin was even more beautiful than his smile. Somehow, it managed to be at once dirty and innocent.

"Fuck you," Racallio said, knowing it would only make the grin more beautiful.

(And so it did. Racallio cherished the memory and he pressed Velaryon's face down into the mud, claiming his victory if not the prize he most desired, the sound of his men's loud cheering almost drowning out the beating of his heart.)

(Happily, there would be another day tomorrow.)


End file.
